![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() To stumble on time: the autobiographic tradition, rift in the concrete I hit with my boots. When I turn away in public from the women with white hair, I become less public presence. Though all my life, I have avoided the extreme. The women of the interior prepare themselves for pain by igniting small piles of fir needles on their wrists. If there were a wood for every emotion, a seasonal myth for the rain-box or savannah bear, it would mean: Don't worry. Out of Africa, out of origin, they spread out. The anthropomorph in the pictograph looked like an animal from within, its neck elongated, its legs bandied, its head crowned with two horns, slim and striped like an impala's. What do we wish when we wish someone good dreams? A bridge, by which we see a crossing, ice palace world with a lavender rim. A tree that does not grow straight but reacts to attacks from the weather, unlike pines which grow immaculate from their centers out. I've hit the row of cottonwood, dry and soft, blond and brown with knots of rot and twisted sinews. ![]()
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